They said that her heart was made of ice,
As she didn’t look older than sixteen.
Her face would always have a smile,
Inside her little hurricanes would occasionally rise.
They said she couldn’t feel love, pain or sorrow,
But they hadn’t seen her cry,
They hadn’t seen the bruises,
Given by the treacherous humans,
As they were perfectly hidden by her sleeves.
Even a little bit of warmth,
Could have melted that ice-heart,
But none were ready to provide it,
Maybe they feared the woman that she could become.